


Disarmed

by Cecret



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Bantering, F/M, Feelings Realization (sort of), Fighting, Flirting, I just kept writing and writing not knowing what i was doing, Innuendo, I’m working on fics with different pairings and that kinda shows, Jealousy, Michael is still a very petty and immature demon, Michael knows literally two human feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and he feels them a lot, because Eleanor doesn’t kiss and tell, but Eleanor is a demon tamer, but not exactly established, but you know not that short, implied Cheleanor, implied ot3 feels (sort of), pre-relationship (maybe), so it's a mess but whatever, so it's still basic and improvised, this was supposed to be a quick improvised story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecret/pseuds/Cecret
Summary: “That meant he should always remember she was the cause of his headaches, his risk of Retirement incarnated, the sole source of each and every frustration that had plagued him for centuries.He should always remember how much she infuriated him.”Demons tend to lack the talent to deal with emotions. Acceptance is the first step on that path. Too bad denial comes before it.
Relationships: Chidi Anagonye/Eleanor Shellstrop, Chidi Anagonye/Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop, Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17





	Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Existential Crisis and The Trolley Problem.
> 
> Soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQM-zd9ViHg

_"May I ask to what these questions tend?"_

_"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."_

_"And what is your success?"_

_She shook her head. "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as to puzzle me exceedingly."_

  
  


“I’m sorry, is there something on my face?”

The hand framing his own jaw, a chin barely raised and the voice a few notes lower: the usual posture he had rehearsed ages ago and had always managed to make humans fear him.

Until her.

Fork, it was infuriating. _She_ was infuriating.

That would not stop him from trying, though. Even if each attempt to intimidate her seemed to drive her closer instead of farther, to make her peek more instead of less and to turn her smirks even more devious, there was always the slightest chance ―though remote― of succeeding in his task.

And no, it was not about enjoying those little fights they had.

Of course not.

She simply _infuriated_ him.

At her lack of response and constant stare, he added a tilted head to the equation. “So…?”

“Yeah- No, I was just thinking…”

Michael looked down at his book and sighed. “Wow… A human, thinking? No wonder it smelled like something was burning.”

“Dude! What the fork?” The cushion hitting the side of his face was definitely a surprise, he would give her as much. Although, the bigger surprise was realizing he didn’t enjoy his snarky comment as much as he had expected. Partly, because he knew it hid a lie. Eleanor was, after all, the most brilliant human he had ever met, and certainly smarter than some of his acquaintances.

Even if admitting that infuriated him.

_I’m getting repetitive here…_

“Why don’t you fork off and go get another crisis? But don’t count on me for getting you out of this one, you ashole…”

“Hey, you can’t keep using that! You already did it two days ago, to get me to change your mattress because your _boyfriend_ can’t properly handle breakfast in bed.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and eyed another cushion, muttering under her breath. “Jealous, much?”

“And yesterday, to lift the cursing ban five minutes a week.”

Her jaw fell with a gasp. “You said eight and after tortures! We negotiated!”

“Well, now it’s three at four a. m.! Happy?”

Eleanor gritted her teeth and gave him a quick glance. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ on the jealou-”

“Please, that’s nonsense!”

Not to mention ridiculous or gross. An impossible idea that was completely and totally absurd from every angle one could look at it from. A joke, but not even a funny one. Eleanor was never _that_ fun to begin with. At least she was more fun than _him_ , than that pesky little nerd, but that set up a very low bar. And still, she was no more than a human. Boring, basic ―yeah, _she_ was the basic one! How devastating did that feel?―, gross and confusing.

And so, so forking-

He sighed.

The word ‘infuriating’ felt bitter and exhausting on his tongue, the sound itself exhausted, worn out, driven over and over again through his brain with the insidious scratch of a broken record that he could _not_ stop playing.

But… what else was there to say? What other word could sooth, even briefly, the unease of being forced to spend every day of his existence next to someone he could not begin to understand? 

Jealousy! As if! Jealousy of what? Of them mashing foodholes, as he suspected they did? Of them spending time together, smiling at each other in class? Of the borderline diabetic glances she gave him?

Basic. Humans were so _basic._

What did she see in Chidi anyway?! Like that time she rejected his invitation to go to the beach and stayed at their place watching movies, instead. She could watch movies at any time of the day! And where even was the fun in that plan, in sitting next to someone, silently staring at the images on a screen? 

That was probably why they did it, though: the silence meant not having to put up with each other, a rest from the inevitable tortures their characters were naturally disposed to inflict.

Yeah. That was clearly the reason.

Perhaps, the cards under his sleeve were not doing any good, though. Next time, he should actually tell her about the crabs trained to do MMA instead of just surprising her with them, even if that dampened her reaction a bit. Or maybe some simulations could do the trick. He just had to find the right opportunity to display his abilities and even better if Chidi ended-

No! No, no, no! He was forgetting his real, actual problem: Eleanor Shellstrop herself.

Michael was pulled from his train of thought the moment Janet manifested in the room, right in front of Eleanor, the latter offering a smile that felt, more than anything, like a threat to him, the teeth of a bread knife ready to bore and tear skin under the mask of those innocent dimples and _there_ , there was the fun part, beyond any attempt at denial. His eyes creased, body leaning forward to examine her.

“Hi, babe. So, remember that thing I asked you, about building a sector in your void not even demons can’t access?”

“Of course I do, Eleanor. What can I do for you?”

Oh, was she going to hide from him? As if he cared, she would be doing him a favor! And technically, humans were not allowed into Janet’s voids so she might as well brace herself for disappointment or for pain.

Oh.

Should he- should he… warn her?

But before he could even think about doing it, Eleanor had the nerve to stand and look down at him. His eyes traced her short frame, laughing at the ridiculous reality of meeting evil and annoyance themselves and finding them packed in no more than five feet. Too bad she was getting _better_ , because better meant boring and lame and hanging out with _Chidi_ instead of him.

Not that he particularly _wanted_ to hang out with her, either.

Of course not.

But he wouldn’t deny certain amusement in their ongoing game.

“Take Michael’s paperclips there, please.”

_No._

He stood instantly, making her step back, and summoned Janet when she had barely managed to disappear.

“Janet, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t take away my stuff!”

A finger tapped his shoulders and he turned, towering over Eleanor. 

“You see, pal, Janet and I discussed this already. Since she’s a Good Place Janet and you’re a lying bastard from the Bad Place, I actually have more authority over her than you do.”

Had this human forgotten that the trick to make a lie believable was making it have even a bare relationship with the truth? The Shellstrop touch was definitely losing some edge.

How disappointing.

“How funny. But that is simply not true!” Michael pretended to shed a tear of laughter and took the chance to wipe his glasses, still holding her gaze with a tight smile.

She didn’t even blink.

“Ask her.”

Her determination was intriguing, but then again, it was one thing to have her ruin his plans and a very different one ―impossible, too― to owe her the power overturn of his whole reality.

So he dared to move closer and studied the firmness of her posture, waiting for the moment her façade would drop.

“Janet?” 

“I’m right here, Michael.”

Oh.

He had forgotten about that.

Michael paid her pleasant smile with a smirk that was pure teeth and purely meant for Eleanor.

“Oh, forgive me. I only need a very simple answer from you. Who do you respond to? Me, the eternal being who has been your boss for the past three centuries, or a simple, rather small and insignificant human who lacks the intellectual capacities to handle the breadth of your powers?”

Janet directed each of her palms to both of them and nodded. “Well, I respond to the two of you. But Eleanor has made me realize that, considering I am stolen property of the Good Place and my purpose is to help humans and Good Place Architects, your position as a Bad Place Architect, even though it doesn’t bar me from assisting you, does place you in a slightly lower stance.”

“Excuse me?”

Eleanor tapped her lips and squinted her eyes at Janet. “Could you freshen up my memory and tell me just _how_ low Michael stands in the food chain?”

“He is in seventh place.”

“Seventh..?” His brains ―all three of them― had meant to yell, but his mouth did little over whispering the word. “Seventh?”

“You’re right under low-grade demons. They can’t channel my powers like you do and, since they’re more dependent on me, their requests prevail over yours. And so do Eleanor’s.”

_Oh._

She did overturn his whole reality.

Eleanor Shellstrop had hijacked his own Janet. And his- 

He slumped back onto the couch.

“Can I- Can I just have my paperclips back?”

“No, he can’t! You’re dismissed, girl.” With a couple of finger guns, Eleanor bid goodbye to his- well, apparently _her_ assistant. “I’ll let you know when to give them back.”

His whole body seemed to melt against the leather and the wood, disinflating to the point he hoped to vanish into nothingness, like Janet had just done. His eyes spotted the pair of feet moving in his direction and made their way up to her face right when she leaned against his seat, in a lousy attempt to corner him with her arms.

“It might be time for you to learn you should be nicer with me. I’ve saved you ash more than a couple of times by now.”

Michael swallowed his own words.

If only she knew that was exactly the problem. 

He had been _too_ nice to her these days. She had caught him off guard, had lured him- _bewitched_ him with lies that rivaled his own, with her sharp wit and her observant third eye. He had come to truly damn the day his desk had met the file of that sneaky, little-

And she saved him! She dared to _help_ him! She had no right to do that, to be so forking… kind with him!

That was not supposed to happen, that was not the Eleanor he knew. 

_Kindness_ did not fit in his plans.

No. He had to keep himself on his toes. Even the slightest bit of carelessness could drive her to think herself an equal to him. And that was, of course, impossibly far from the truth.

(Even if the most terrifying thought haunting him was finding _himself_ believing that).

_No._

That meant he should always remember she was the cause of his headaches, his risk of Retirement incarnated, the sole source of each and every frustration that had plagued him for centuries.

He should always remember how much she infuriated him.

“Actually, you put ‘my ash’ on the line more than a couple of times. So forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly grateful.”

The smirk slowly blooming on her face let him know how badly he had chosen his words. Michael stared at it, a neon sign of all his fork ups, as she moved impossibly closer. 

Was that why she had lowered her voice?

And why couldn’t he dare to lick his own lips, despite how dry his mouth was?

In his defense, the whole ‘Janet’ fiasco had thrown him off. That was surely it.

“Then you only have more reasons not to mess with me. Because I might just end up in the mood for an eight hundred and third time.”

His gaze rose to meet hers and the satisfied look he found in them was-

Well, settling for infuriating _was_ one of the options...

She showed no intention of stepping back, allowing her eyes to dart around his face, scrutinizing, judgemental… _smug._ Who did she think she was? An index finger pressed against her shoulder was all it took to move her back to a standing position, but she just sat next to him on the couch.

He felt the burn of her stare bugging the skin of his neck and still ignored her, scooting farther only for her to fill the space he had just emptied.

“What’s going on with you? You’re acting weird.”

Michael crossed his legs and tried not to look down the moment his thigh brushed past hers. “I guess pretending to be torturing four useless humans is almost as tiring as trying _not_ to torture those same useless humans.”

“It’s not that. It’s something else… You’re being weird with _me_. You’ve barely said two words to me today.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe I can’t stand you?”

She let out a laugh and let a couple of fingers crawl and prod the sleeve of his shirt. “I dunno. Last week’s Michael seemed to put up with me pretty well. Especially drunk Michael…”

He cleared his throat, wishing she wouldn’t elaborate.

“Do you even remember all the things you told me that night?”

_Yes._

“No.”

“Would you like a reminder..?”

Why did she have to talk like that? Why would she soften her voice if it only forced her to slide closer? It would be rude of him to wipe out its weight with a wave of his hand, but it still bothered him. And most of all, why, why the Here would her hands not leave him alone?!

“No.”

Why was his collar so tight? Was she sabotaging his clothes, as well?

“Worried about what your demon buddies might think of you being friends with a human?”

“We’re not friends, Eleanor.”

“Oh, is that label not good enough for you? Because we could work something out.”

She was his ally and that was all he wanted. Well, there was one thing, though: he also wanted to escape this. He could always leave and come back right before class. The clock by the kitchen wall told him the others should be arriving soon, but every minute on this couch sent one more drop of sweat down his back.

Had he even sweated at all before meeting _her?_

Unable to take more of all the anger and the confusion, he stood and without even a glance in her direction, moved towards the door. But of course she would make him stop in his tracks.

“I was hoping we could be civil, man. But I guess you’ll just have to say goodbye to your paperclips for-ev-er.”

Michael turned at the last words, her voice dragging the syllables with too much amusement for his taste.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed your little bracelet. I just left it there in case I ever need something to blackmail you with.”

Huh. He thought she had spared him out of silly sentimentality, but of course, she had forgotten- _he_ had made her forget the moment when she gave it to him.

And so many moments after that.

“I can do that.”

She looked up at him at that, intrigued.

“Do what?”

“Be civil. I’m a superior being, and you are… tolerable, I suppose. There’s no reason we can’t be amicable with each other.”

Oh, but there were many, _many_ reasons why they couldn’t.

(But he really, _really_ wanted his paperclips back. And it wouldn’t be the first time he lied to her, after all).

With a bow of his head, he moved back into the living room and settled in the white chair opposite her, letting the conversation wither and the silence expand awkwardly in the most deliberate way as he held her gaze with the hint of a smile. 

Two could play this game.

So Michael picked up his retractable pen and-

“Don’t even think about it.”

He should have left.

“What do you want, Eleanor?”

“To figure you out.”

“Haven’t you, by this point?” The low chuckle that came out with his words made her, once again, smirk instead of coil.

How… intriguing, to be honest. 

She moved from the couch to the armrest of his seat, forcing him to look up at her.

“Not really… Like I said, you’re always changing. That puzzles me a little.”

An arm came to rest behind her, careful enough to avoid even grazing her clothes. “What do you want to know?”

“Well- Just now, I was wondering how your whole… thing works.”

His eyes followed the trace her finger had done down his chest and then frowned at her.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, dude. I’m just talking about your human suit. You’ve told us you got randomly assigned this body, but what does that mean? Like, you’re not actually this, right?”

He exhaled and looked at the clown paintings, as if searching for a source of complicity. They had also had to live with Eleanor for the past three centuries, but at least Michael had the decency to rotate them once in a while.

Chidi would talk about the philosophical implications of the concept of the self. He was content just saying he didn’t feel particularly attached to any shape of all the ones he had adopted.

“It’s not a matter of what I am, but rather-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. This isn’t what you look like all the time. It's a costume, right? But you’re not from my world so, is it, like… real?”

“Of course it’s real. And you’re in _my_ world now. So, maybe, the question you should be asking yourself is if you, Eleanor, are as ‘real’ as you think yourself to be.”

The twitch on her lip scored a point in his favor.

“Okay, I won’t be doing that. Because I doubt you’ll look after me if I’m the one to get the existential crisis, even if it would be the fair thing to do. _And_ Chidi told me I can’t keep missing classes, no matter the excuse.”

She was right. He wouldn’t. He _shouldn’t._ There was no such thing as guilt for a demon, no such thing as caring. And as for fairness? Please! ‘Fair’ was the stupidest word humans had ever invented. Who cared if she sunk in existential dread? Certainly not him.

Even if he did help her, it would only be so she wouldn’t jeopardize their alliance in front of other demons. And he wouldn’t know how to help her to begin with! Michael had no insightf- uh… lame, completely _lame_ stories about sobbing into plungers.

She would deserve it.

_Eleanor infuriates you… That’s all you have to remember._

“Does your body work like mine?”

“In some ways, it does. But I’m a superior being, so don’t flatter yourself by comparing me to you.”

The citric taste of her annoyance hit his tongue before it reached her features.

“Do you eat?”

“I can. Don’t have to. I do enjoy it, though.”

Her knees hit his legs when she shifted. Since when did he notice those things?

“So you ‘enjoy’ things. That means you feel things… Do you have senses like ours? Smell, touch… taste?”

An eyebrow rose.

“More than yours, actually.”

Michael hadn’t moved, but began to feel her hip settling against his forearm.

“Do you shower?”

“In this form, I don’t need to. And I don’t really like water, if I’m being honest.”

Did he just give her leverage? He was becoming careless.

“What about clothes? Are they attached to you?” 

Eleanor tugged at his bow tie, unintentionally ―he supposed― pulling him towards her, so he moved back and smoothed down his shirt.

“No! They’re just clothes, like yours.”

“What? You wash them and iron them and stuff? That’s boring, man.”

“Of course I don’t, it’s completely unnecessary. And unlike eating or sleeping, I don’t get any enjoyment out of it. It’s a waste of time.”

“Tell that to Chidi…”

He responded to the roll of her eyes with an amused mutter. “Wouldn’t be Hell if you had no chores to do.”

“Fork you.” The curse was at odds with a small laugh, conceding him the victory of building a most inconvenient torment. “So yours are kinda like magic clothes? Can’t you make me some? I’m tired of doing laundry.”

“You mean you’re tired of waiting until Chidi does his laundry to sneak in yours? And no. They’re regular clothes, but they’re worn by an essence that’s not bound to the influence of the elements.”

Eleanor pouted. “Can I try them on?”

He eyed her. “No. Why?”

“Just curious. And maybe I don’t believe you.”

Two fingers were crawling their way to his chest and Michael kept trying not to lower his gaze to them and hold hers, instead.

“I really don’t see the need to f-”

“Oh c’mon, man! Don’t be such a buzzkill! I won’t ever bug you again- well, that’s totally a lie, but I won’t ask for anything from you for like… a week, probably. Or two days. I wanna see if I get magic powers- oh! Do the glasses let you see in nine dimensions?!”

Eleanor snatched them off before he had the chance to tell her they didn’t, and he followed her around the room as she put them on and looked around, reaching out a hand for her.

“Give them back-”

“Dude, this has no augment. What the fork?”

“No, they’re part of the ‘costume’, as you call it. Please, give them back.”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “In exchange of what?”

Her teeth carved into that smile when Michael stepped closer and took off his suit jacket, but her expression faltered once he handed it to her and wandered off to the collection of red noses.

Was not that what she wanted?

“There. So you can see for yourself that my clothes won't let you build life-like simulations, control the weather or blow stuff up. Only _I_ can do that, because I'm-”

“Sure, ‘superior being’ and all that crab. No one cares, dude. But… simulations, you said? What kind of simulations?”

_I knew it._

Michael turned on his heels to face her, the promise of all of time and all of space on the tip of his tongue, of every possible craving of her imagination available at the snap of his fingers. How could a movie night with Chidi ever compete with-?

_Oh._

It reached her knees. 

The jacket of his suit reached Eleanor's knees and its sleeves hung loose as she laughed at all the spare fabric, flopping her arms like a clumsy bird. 

“I knew you were tall, bud, but this is borderline ridiculous.”

Eleanor smiled up at him.

“I bet it suits me… No pun intended.”

She was right.

She was right, and Michael stayed completely silent because in no universe would he ever admit that. Because it meant too many things he did not want to admit. Things he could no longer deny.

That yes, his jacket suited her. But all the things that jacket _meant_ suited her, as well.

That his things suited her.

That his job suited her.

That his eyes ―the ones of his skin suit― had grown so accustomed to the image of her in his office that it would probably suit her, too.

And the blocked out memory of making her, _only_ her, his ally about fifty reboots before this one hit him with the force of a most unethical type of regret-

_She just breathed in the fabric of his collar._

It meant that she looked good in his clothes, and that the thought of taking them _off_ suddenly sounded far from insane. And that opened up a whole other set of deep-hidden truths. Ones he could, hopefully, shove to the very back of his brain until her next ―he presumed unavoidable― disarmament.

Now he was the one staring.

“What? Do _I_ have something on my face?”

Michael shook his head.

“Whatcha thinking, then?” He should tell her to stop giggling. Too bad he couldn't even speak. “You know, this look suits you, too. Maybe you should think about losing those glasses if they're just for show.”

Where did she leave those, by the way? He should look for them.

He swallowed, still silent because she was moving closer and the ancient realization that Eleanor Shellstrop was capable of anything had suddenly gained around twenty new shades.

His calves hit the rough edge of the couch, so he found himself landing on it at the pressure of a firm —too complex and very, very much human— gaze and four fingers on his chest. Michael hardly knew what to do with his arms, that awkwardly tried to fit in somewhere, _anywhere_ but the folds and curves they would rush to if left to their own devices.

“I wonder what you would look like without those bow ties… And I bet I could totally pull off that shirt of yours.”

There it was again, the tugging. Except this time, she chose not to settle beside him but to use his thighs as a forking chair and, honestly, _who gave her the right?_ She was far from shy to ask him for any- any _thing_ she could possibly want, no matter how pointless or stupid it seemed (and how questionable of Michael to listen). If she wanted him to change her furniture, all she needed was to _ask._

_And since when are her wishes your command, Mikey boy?_

"Do you- uh- do you want...?" She wet her own lips, shifting on his lap. "New chairs?"

Her legs crossed, ankle curling near his shin.

"Hmm... I think I'm gonna stick with this one. If you don't mind."

...Where did he leave that tiara? And where were his hands? Oh, still on the couch. Good. The last thing he needed was to find them loosening his own collar or touching _her_. He should escape- he _could_ escape, Eleanor was light as a feather and getting her up should be easy. Technically. But he found it impossible, paralyzed, hypnotized by that shirt-eating smirk and those mischievous eyes.

Maybe she did get powers from his jacket.

But why did the thought of her gaining sight of a couple new dimensions made him so uneasy? He was not hiding anything.

Right..?

“I just have one more question, bud.”

All he could do was nod, not even able to stop his eyes from scanning down her torso as her arms closed around his neck. The mental image of fingers slipping underneath his own jacket, moving past her flannel shirt and reaching- _at last,_ reaching skin lasted only for a blink, vanishing as quickly as it came to him. She was close enough to hold (and close enough to push away), if only he had enough oxygen to _think_ , to force his brain to register something other than her very presence.

She must have been stealing his air, that selfish girl.

“Why didn't it work?”

“What?”

His tone was clouded and clogged with confusion and… something else, something different that was almost as intriguing as she was and that seemed to light up sparks at the breath she let out, so close to his own. Michael found himself so utterly _lost_ that he took too long to acknowledge the noises by the door.

“The seduc- _Chidi?!_ What the fork happened to you?”

Eleanor stood up and ran to the entrance, not before throwing Michael’s jacket back at him, making it land on his face. By the time he drew it back, the spell ―that _witch_ ― had broken and he could actually stand up and look at the professor entering the house.

Huh. He didn’t get to see _how_ they greeted each other.

Not that he cared.

At least not that much. 

Chidi had an ice pack on the side of his face, glasses clinging to the collar of his shirt, and he gently pushed away the hand Eleanor brought up to his head.

“I’m fine, it’s just a bit swollen. I’ll be okay. I don’t think I could handle a lesson on deontology, though, so class is dismissed.”

“Of course it’s dismissed, you dummy! You should be resting.” She led him through the living room, keeping her concerned eyes constantly on him. 

“You’re just saying that to get an out of class.”

Her gasp was followed by a light giggle when Chidi smiled at her, a bit weakly due to the pain.

“I am _not!_ I… Maybe I care a little, okay? Someone’s teaching me not to be that selfish anymore.”

Michael shifted the weight of his body from one foot to the other, tapping his hand against his leg as the two humans stared at each other with dumb, ridiculous grins on their faces. An odd feeling invaded his stomach. Was it nausea, at the sugary display?

He couldn’t help clearing his throat.

Both turned towards him at the sound, a bit startled.

“Oh, Michael. Hi!” Chidi waved a hand at him while Eleanor looked down, snorting.

“I take it unicorn polo went a bit further than we expected?”

“Yeah…” Wincing at his own nod, the man turned to Eleanor. “I was asked to be the ref in a game. I thought the torture would mostly be being forced to make decisions, you know, the usual stuff. But I was watching the game and, all of the sudden, Gunnar’s mallet was hitting my head and everything went black for a while.”

“Dude, you could’ve lost an eye!”

“It’s okay! Michael warned me to ask Janet for some protective glasses, just in case.”

He looked away when her eyes searched for his. “Did he now?”

“Yeah. And now I have these cool bullet-proof glasses! I kinda feel like a Super Professor.”

She rolled her eyes and walked to the kitchen. “Okay, you big dork. I think all that time you’re spending with Jason is starting to rub off on you. I’ll go get some Ibuprofen .”

“There’s no need-”

“I’m here! Let me help. That’s what… roommates are for.”

Michael wondered if he had imagined Eleanor’s furtive glance in his direction at the word, but was soon distracted by his own fingers, looking down at them only after they had snapped, almost on their own account.

Chidi drew the ice pack back and placed a hand on his head, testing, probing, confusion painted all over his expression. The swelling was supposed to subside and, with it, the throbbing pain. The dizziness and nausea couldn’t be fixed that easily, but it wouldn’t be right to undo all the work of his subordinates anyway, right?

The demon’s hand itched when the man finally looked at him. 

“Thank you, Michael.”

He just gave him a nod, and hoped Chidi would swallow the question dancing in his eyes.

_Why did he do that?_

He was not sure of the answer himself.

Eleanor seemed to understand what happened just by looking at them both and smiled at Michael, tracing his features with intrigue. Once she broke eye contact, he was able to look around the room and finally found his glasses, resting on top of the coffee table.

He felt uncomfortable.

Everything was warm, tight and sweaty. Besides, he had clearly overstayed his welcome and at times it felt like _she_ had forgotten he was there at all.

He slipped the jacket back on and adjusted his glasses, his nose scrunching at the sudden wave of a familiar, fruity smell lingering in the air. Where did it-?

_Oh, fork._

Now his suit was all contaminated! All Eleanor-ed! He would have to wash it. 

Well… maybe later. 

_Unless_ her plan had been to get him to wash it after he told her he didn’t like doing that. Huh. Yeah, that was a real possibility, right? A very likely plan, even if it was quite lame of her.

In that case, he wouldn’t indulge her. Of course not.

He _won_.

Not that she seemed to care that much… 

When the other two kept walking towards the guest room, Michael didn’t let another second of hesitation pass by before making his way to the door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Eleanor was pointing a finger at him when he faced her. “Don’t go MIA, okay? And cut it out with the whole ‘hot and cold’ thing, I already know you like me...”

The way- that yet unreadable way her eyes scanned him all over froze his lungs.

“Come back later, if you want to. Who knows? I might find the way to snatch that jacket off of you again. And if you keep being nice, you might just get your paperclips back.”

And with a wink, she was closing Chidi’s door behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially inspired by this prompt but then it morphed into something else and got out of hand: https://cecret-with-c.tumblr.com/post/638524748630982656/imagine-your-otp
> 
> Star Pepper posted about Eleanor taking Michael's paperclips here: https://star-pepper.tumblr.com/post/633474683851948032/eleanor-i-took-all-your-paper-clips-michael
> 
> The initial quote is from Pride and Prejudice and there are a few more references peppered in. I just have a lot of P&P feelings that kinda mash with these two <3
> 
> And yeah, some elements of Two Glasses and a Bottle of Wine inspired that ending <3


End file.
